Trouble brewing

Yup! The pooches are not fooling me! I know that the Chihuahua of the next-door neighbors has put a contract on the Angora cat from the green house AND I also know that the Bulldogs Leopold and Mimi are planning the hit in cahoots with the Poodle (a.k.a. the French Connection) from across the street. Off course the local cop (The Irish Wolfhound of the Blue House) is way to busy sniffing some fluffed up Pomeranian to pay attention to the shenanigan. I know that all together there are some skeletons in the closet, even if the slick Terrier of the Tudor on the left (the Consigliore of the Chihuahua) keep on barking that those bones are only the reserve of the large family of Pugs of the Mormon family living in the large house with the stripped awnings. There is trouble in Fire Hydrant City my friends! And it’s Doggy Mafia spelled with a D and an M!

Now the damned cat is not helping the situation either. Flicking off the bulldogs from the branches of the tree in the front yard was really a dumb way to add oil to the fire and the musical serenade under the window of the cute Tabby from the house in the corner at 2:00 O’clock in the morning was downright unnecessary. Although both bulldogs snoring their heads off at the time did not seem to be disturbed, the Chihuahua was plum pissed of! And not shy about it either, until he got hit by the left slipper of the Master of the House and went back yelping into his basket to plot his revenge.

Now I am a quiet guy, just trying to get along and all that gang activity is disturbing my peace of mind. I thought the neighborhood was safe after the couple of white supremacist German Sheppard moved out. They had been involved in a few arguments with the two nice Pointers mix of the Graham house, barking slogans about the need to maintain racial purity. I think that the Grahams dogs handled the situation just right by first lifting a hind leg to a tree and then pointing across the street, an action that I take as a figurative way to say “Piss Off “ in doggy language. That was a small incident in comparison to the gang warfare brewing today. Well, lets hope that spring will come soon and with it a couple of females in heat, a situation that, no doubt will redirect the attention of the canine population of the block, until a new Postman comes in!

Call me Joseph

I am the proud father of three kids, if you can hang that description on three characters born in the early seventies. Or if you want me to be more specific I have a son and two daughters in the full throw of adulthood. So far so good.

When the story of my family turn to the really weird sector is that this gentlemen (father of a daughter on his own), and those two ladies (one mother of a boy and a girl, the other one convinced that she is the dotting mother of two English Bulldogs, no kidding!) are absolutely convinced that they are the result of immaculate conception! Yup all three of them.

Their minds, pretty astute in some very advanced area of either communication and cinematographic art, cardiac imaging, child rearing, trip planning, party throwing and other speculative and operative area comes to a screeching halt when the subject of their conception is broached.

They are not in any way, shape or form able to handle the concept that their creation was the result of sexual activity of two (very) consenting adults. No! No deal!

Any conversation coming even close to the subject is immediately interrupted by loud protest, covering of head and flat refusal to go there!

That is a little puzzling at the least.

For starter, I should know since I was there.

I also know that if my sweet and gentle spouse should have, at the time, started the conversation, some evening around the fireplace or the pool, by informing me that she had received the visit of an archangel and consequently was going to give birth to a child my first reaction would have been a good laugh. Upon her insistence the conversation would have taken a very interesting turn with me trying to find out what kind of stuff said sweet spouse had ingested, sniffed or smoked in the recent past. Thing going any further could have brought me to an early stage of planning of discovery of the location of the archangel with the goal of paying him a visit, in company of my favorite baseball bat, off course.

Any attempts to explain to my kids the error of their thinking as failed miserably and will I am afraid never reached a successful conclusion.

So…call me Joseph….. And NO I do not do cabinetry!

Good night.